


Fate Worse than Death

by doomteacosy



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Gen, if you squint you can ship it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 02:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomteacosy/pseuds/doomteacosy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mels is prepared for a lot of scenarios. This isn’t one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fate Worse than Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zeit-heist (xObscurexOmenx)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xObscurexOmenx/gifts).



> Introduction to a universe created by a friend and I that covers the adventures of various under-/misused characters or characters that we just liked running around and having adventures in their own separate universe.

It hurts a lot more than last time.

Or she at least thinks it does. It’s been a while, ok? A girl doesn’t die every day. For a minute it’s all golden light and a weird tingle behind her teeth that she does remember. She hates that part. But it’s over in a flash and then everything’s black and then she’s looking up at… she’s looking up at… A cutesy blond frowning down at her?

She blinks and tilts her head up to look around the room.  It’s just her, the girl, and Hitler’s office. No Ponds. No TARDIS.

No Doctor.

Mels sits up so fast the girl almost falls over moving back. “What the—” She stops as she looks down at her hands. There’s something all too familiar about them. Her tongue slides over her teeth and her hands grasp for her hair, her face. It can’t be… Can it?

She rolls to her feet and crosses the room, glancing in a mirror as she goes. Her face—her old face—looks back at her for a fleeting second and then she’s pulling at the door to the closet.

Nothing. No one.

She finally turns around to the blond, who is perched on one of the armchairs and still staring at her with a curious look that seems almost as entertained as it is concerned. There’s something nagging at the corner of Mels’ brain, but it’s all she has not to just scream. It takes her a minute, but she finds her voice and grinds out, “Oi! Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

The girl perks up. “I like pictures, actually,” She doesn’t even flinch at Mels’ glare as she continues. “But the real thing can be so much more interesting, though.”

“Who  _are_ you?”

“Jenny,” The girl says with a smile as she hops off the chair and moves towards Mels with her hand out. When she doesn’t take it, little miss Captain of the Cheerful Brigade tilts her head and starts to circle around her. “ _What_ are you?”

“None of your bloody business is what.”

Their little dance continues for a moment the look on the other girl’s face becoming alarmingly more inquisitive with each step. Finally Cheerful Brigade (or Jenny, as people who cared apparently called her) stops and three of Mels’ least favorite words are hovering in the air.

“Are you a Time Lord? Is that why the TARDIS brought me to you?”

Bizarre, happy, sticking her nose into other people’s business—she wouldn’t be surprised if they were siblings.

A headache starts to form behind her eyes and Mels wonders if maybe being dead would have been better.


End file.
